


My Lover's the Sunlight

by magicbubblepipe



Series: Take Me to Church [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Job, Come Eating, Comfort/Angst, Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, Facial, Frottage, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/pseuds/magicbubblepipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's back from Hell and the only thing on his mind is getting to his grieving little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Lover's the Sunlight

After the anger and denial, Sam is hollow. When it becomes clear that no one in hell or on earth is willing to make a deal with him, all purpose starts to drain out of him. He takes to drinking instead of dealing with the fact that he’s got nowhere to go and no one to care about. When he’s drunk, the rage and the sadness come in waves. He’s trashed more motel rooms than he can count, run the Impala off the road once or twice and has nearly put a gun in his mouth at least three times a week.

He presses his palm flat against the amulet resting under his shirt and against his skin. He presses in harder and harder to make it fill that huge empty space inside him but all he gets is gouged by the little horns. He tries not to remember taking it gently from around his brother’s neck before he and Bobby lowered his body into the ground. But he does and he remembers the meaningless pain of crushing it in his palm after the grave was filled with dirt, letting the blood collect and drip from between his fingers.

He shakes his head and swallows hard, trying to squash the memory and bury it deep. He hasn’t given up on Dean; it’s just not in him to do that. But he’s stuck, deaf and blind in this seemingly endless darkness, unable to make a move. He’s on the brink of madness when Ruby comes to him. He fights her for as long as he can but she preys on his weakness and his loneliness. She’s always known what he and Dean were to each other and uses it to manipulate his feelings.

When he finally gives in and accepts the blood in a moment of insanity, it’s because he thinks he can win. He really thinks if he gets powerful enough, he can storm right into Hell himself and pull Dean off the rack. He’s ready and willing to take on anything that stands in his way, even the devil himself. And so his training begins.

…

 

            The fire-lit darkness of Hell is interrupted quite suddenly by an unbearable flash of bluish light. Dean drops the knife in his hand to shield his eyes as the screaming around him rises to a deafening roar, smells fear sweat and burning flesh before everything goes dark and quiet. Dean’s whole body gives an unsettling lurch and he finds himself flat on his back and very cold.

            The coldness is what alarms him the most. Forty years in Hell and never a cold day; he had almost forgotten what it felt like. Now he’s acutely reminded, his perspiration cooling so rapidly he starts to shiver. He calls out in the suffocating and absolute darkness, only to hear a hoarse, disused croak instead of his voice. His heart beats out a panicked rhythm and he wiggles around, puts his hands out only to have them come bluntly into contact with rough, splintered wood. He jerks back at the unexpected sensation, only to cautiously touch it again.

            Bowed wood curving into his palms, creaking threateningly whenever he gives it a shove, letting small pieces of something slip through and right onto Dean’s face. He tosses his head in alarm, realizing when he goes to swipe the rest away with his fingers that it’s dirt. That’s when he suddenly starts to understand his predicament.

            “A coffin,” he says, even his rasp of a voice seeming loud in the silence around him.

His head is aching and swimming with the lack of oxygen and he knows that the only way to go is up.

…

            After months of nothing except honing his powers and expelling little piss-ant demons, it’s strange to be returning to Pontiac. As much as it hurts in his gut to be so close to where Dean is dead and buried underground, he cannot ignore the sudden beehive of demonic activity that’s hit the town. Underneath the stony, military efficiency he’s established over the months, Sam can’t help but feel a vague stirring of hope that something may be about to change.

            They’ve just rolled into town and booked a cheap room with a _heart_ on the door of all things, Sam feeling exhausted from the drive and Ruby not feeling much of anything. He leaves the demon to sprawl out in her underwear and check out the ancient television set while he heads straight for the shower. And then thankfully remembers to poke his head back out to warn her not to buy any porn with his credit card this time.

 It takes the water several minutes to clunk its way to hot (which is actually little more than warm). The water pressure feels like getting pelted by tiny rocks but it’s hardly the worst shower Sam’s ever had. That reminds him of a shitty little house they rented out once when they were kids. The boiler only heated enough water for one shower so he and Dean had to share. The tub was tiny and Dean would always hog the spray like a jerk. It seemed a nuisance at the time but Sam would gladly share with his brother now.          

The great thing about depression, Sam thinks, is that you never know when a stupid damn shower will make you want to cry. He finishes washing up and steps out, grabbing an obnoxiously pink towel to dry off with. He shrugs on a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans, stopping short when he hears voices through the door. Ruby definitely, and then at least two more. Deeper. Men. His first thought is that the small army of demons swarming the city have stopped in to pay them a visit. Heart beating quick, he swings open the door and strides back into the chilly hotel room.

“Hey, is…” he stops. He stares.

Right there, right over Ruby’s shoulder is Dean. It’s not Dean. It looks like Dean. He’s standing with Bobby. Oh God, but it really looks like Dean. He swallows hard, stares at the imposter until it smiles just a little.

“Heya, Sammy.”

And it sounds just like him. Sam’s insides seem to contract, anger swelling up huge inside him like a balloon and he pull out a knife. He’s gonna stab that monster, right in the throat but Ruby is screaming for some damn reason and Bobby’s strong arm is a bar across his chest, holding him back. Sam snarls and struggles against him. The imposter has the nerve to look taken aback.

“Who are you?!” Sam demands, watching the monster’s eyebrows knit together in the most dean-like way that it makes him sick.

“Like you didn’t do this?”

“Do _what_?”

“It’s him,” Bobby calmly intercedes, “It’s him. I’ve been through this already. It’s _really_ him.”

Sam stops, feels his body start to slacken but his head is spinning. “What…”

“I know,” Dean says and it really, really is him, isn’t it? “I look fantastic, huh?”

Bobby feels Sam’s tension go and stops holding him back. Sam lunges forward and grabs Dean, feels his body in his hands and pulls him in, crushing his brother against his chest. He lets out a shaky gasp, tears burning behind his eyes as Dean holds him back. He breathes him in and it’s the scent of home hitting him like a warm wave. _He’s alive_.

…

            Just when Dean starts to think Bobby will never leave, he does. Dean’s been staring at Sam this whole time, watching his hair slowly dry and curl at the ends. All he wants to do is bury his face in Sam’s newly acquired pectoral muscles and breathe. His mind is still turning around the fact that Sam wasn’t the one to pull him up (and thank God, his soul is still safe) but it’s hard to keep focused when the man you love and haven’t touched for forty years is sitting right in front of you.

           Dean stands as the door closes behind Bobby and Sam approaches him, looking uncertain. “Hey, wait,” he says, like he expects Dean to just leave. H reaches up behind his neck, “You probably want this back.”

            He pulls the amulet over his head from where it was hiding beneath his t-shirt. He places it in Dean’s outstretched hand and Dean is staring and staring. He brushes his fingers over the familiar contours of the little face, feeling the heat of Sam’s body trapped inside metal. He blinks his stinging eyes and looks back up at his brother.

            “Thanks,” he breathes.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Sam replies, fidgets a little, “Hey Dean, what was it like?”  
           Dean’s stomach lurches but his mouth is already moving around the lie that comes out easy as breathing. “What, Hell? I don’t know, I, I must have blacked out. I don’t remember a damn thing.”

            Sam nods, still looks a little skeptical but he seems satisfied for the moment. “Well, thank God for that.”

            “Yeah.”

            A tense moment of silence crowds the room in which neither of them breathe. Until Sam breaks it.

            “Dean.”

            Their eyes lock and it’s like a switch has flipped and they both surge into motion. Sam meets Dean halfway and catches him up in his arms, crushes their mouths together in a heated kiss. Dean opens up on a gasp, heart thundering in his chest as Sam’s tongue pushes inside. He sucks it greedily, digging his fingers into his brother’s hair, angling his head to get him in deeper. Huge hands palm over his shoulders and down his back, cinching tightly around his waist, pulling his hips in so Dean can feel his arousal.

            “Bed,” Dean breathes between their lips and Sam obeys, moving backwards until his knees catch and he drops down onto the mattress, pulling Dean down with him.

            Dean settles onto his lap and gets his hands on the hem of that paper thin t-shirt that’s been clinging to Sam’s muscles and driving him crazy. He sits back long enough to tug it up over his head and toss it aside, Sam going for his own shirt. He yanks it right off like it offends him and throws it god knows where. He’s about to put his hands back on Dean when he freezes, staring hard at the red handprint blistered onto Dean’s shoulder. Dean feels like he should cover it or apologize but he doesn’t know why.

            Sam doesn’t say a word but carefully puts his hand over the mark, his long fingers easily eclipsing it. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

            Dean shakes his head, watching indecipherable emotions pass through Sam’s soft hazel eyes. Dean lifts a hand and brushes his thumb over Sam’s cheek, gently tracing the dark circles that were never there before. The pain and the longing is tight in Dean’s chest but under all of that is a vast and unconditional love so great he feels like he’s going to drown. He leans in, places a kiss right in the center of Sam’s forehead. Sam closes his eyes and Dean flutters kisses over both lids and the tip of his nose.

            Dean’s hands slide down to Sam’s chest and he pauses, looks down at the smooth hard muscles under his palms. “Christ, you got huge,” he blurts.

            Sam laughs and grabs Dean around the waist, pulling him in to attack his neck with kisses, all the way up to the sensitive spot behind his ear. And just like that, Dean is back to being painfully hard. He rocks down, grinding his clothed erection and against Sam’s. Sam snakes a hand between them and fumbles both their zippers open. Dean hisses and lets his head fall back as the heat of Sam’s hand surrounds him, pumping slow and firm.

            “God, Sam. I won’t last long,” he says, “Feels too good.”

            “I know, s’okay,” Sam tells him, lying back on the bed as he takes both their cocks in hand, pressing them together.

            Dean takes the hint and starts thrusting into the circle of that hand, grinding between his palm and the hot length of Sam’s dick. “Fuck,” he growls, placing his hands up on Sam’s chest, squeezing at the muscle there as he bucks against him. Sam’s other hand slides up Dean’s thigh, dips into the humid space between his legs and cups Dean’s balls, tugging gently. Dean groans, a drizzle of pre-come easing the slide between their cocks.

            Sam watches him with flushed pink cheeks, mouth open as Dean rides him for all he’s worth, biting his lip as the spiraling pleasure builds up hot and almost unbearable. “Sam…” he breathes, his fingers finding the hardened peaks of Sam’s nipples and rolling them just right to make his brother moan. Sam plants his feet firmly on the floor and starts thrusting up against Dean, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

            “C’mon, Dean,” Sam says, his voice husky and perfect. “Come for me, baby.”

            Dean arches his back on a shout, digging his nails into Sam’s chest as his body starts to quake. He comes like he hasn’t come in years, thick white streaks escaping Sam’s hand and splattering on his chest. Tears he barely notices leak from the edges of his eyes as he slowly starts to drift back down, come still sluggishly oozing from his slit.

            As soon as he catches his breath, he lets himself slip off of Sam’s lap and he sinks to his knees on the floor. Sam’s furiously pumping his own cock and Dean leans in, engulfing the head in the wet heat of his mouth. Sam gasps and jerks under him, come spurting into Dean’s mouth and down his chin. Dean swallows and swallows, then pulls back and swipes the rest from his chin, sucking it into his mouth with a satisfied groan. Sam’s still panting as Dean gently licks him clean, not quite willing to let him go.

            He doesn’t stop until Sam whines and pushes him away. Dean breathes out a laugh and crawls up onto the bed, collapsing next his brother. Sam, being the cuddly little fuck he is, turns onto his side and tosses a sweaty arm over Dean’s back. Dean can’t help his smile when he turns to look at Sam because Sam is positively _glowing_. Dean reaches out and brushes the long strands of hair out of his face, his breath hitching when Sam smiles back. He’s spent so long in the darkness he’d forgotten what the sun looks like, but the sunlight is right here and it lives in Sam, shines from his eyes.

            Though he’s still full of confusion and fear, in this moment he feels content and the exhaustion in his bones is slowly winning out. Sam notices, of course and brushes a soothing hand through Dean’s short, sex roughed hair. “Sleep, Dean. Crawling out of Hell sounds pretty damn tiring.”

            Whatever witty retort Dean has dies on his tongue as his eyes slip shut.


End file.
